


Under the Influence

by callay



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: Already, he’s perilously close to losing control, to seizing what he needs from Viren by force. If Viren tries to offer it up to him out of some sense of duty, he’s not going to be able to resist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The rough Virrow sex pollen fic I've been thinking about along.
> 
> Hey, [artaline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artaline) drew some amazing art inspired by this fic, [look at it](https://artaline.tumblr.com/post/182409606823/this-is-a-gift-it-comes-with-a-price-a-piece-for)!

Harrow shuts the bedroom door behind him and collapses against it. His chest heaves as he drags in a breath. His heart is racing, and there’s heat surging through him in pulses, making his skin prickle with sweat. It’s hard to think.

But he’s alone. He leans his head back against the door, which is thick enough to separate him from the guards posted outside. Finally, for the first time since he breathed in that strange pollen in the depths of the forest, he’s _alone_.

He shoves down his pants and wraps a hand around his cock.

He swallows a groan. He’s hard, achingly hard, has been since the moment when he stumbled into that strange red flower in the forest. The effect of breathing in the flower’s pollen had been immediate: a sudden rush of arousal like liquid heat being poured into his veins.

He’d been forced to call the hunt off, claiming illness, and had barely kept it together during the long ride back to the castle. Now, finally, he’s alone, and can sate the arousal that’s pulsing inside him, a need so hot and urgent it feels as much like anger as desire.

Leaning back against the door, he strokes himself with fierce, desperate pulls, his fist tight around his cock. His whole body shudders with each stroke, his pulse pounding in his ears, his veins running with heat.

This won’t take long. Each slide of his fist increases the tension already gripping his body, until it’s almost unbearable, pleasure and need in swelling harmony. He pushes onward, stroking himself faster, until a few heartbeats later, it’s inevitable.

He grits his teeth against an eager moan and comes, red burning behind his eyes, his whole body tensing, his cock pulsing in his tight grip, spilling out onto the floor before him.

It doesn’t help.

The pleasure is overwhelming for one brief moment, but instead of relief afterwards, he feels the same red, pulsing desire in his veins. His cock is as hard as ever. He feels like he could keep going – like instead of just having come, he’s a few strokes from climax, as desperate as he was when he first closed the door.

His head spins. What does the pollen want from him?

Desperate, he tries a second time – more carefully this time, with slow even strokes, letting the sensation shudder through his entire body. His second orgasm is just as hot and overwhelming as the first, but it only stokes his arousal higher still. Immediately, he feels a compelling urge to touch himself more, faster this time, his hand tighter around his oversensitive cock –

He forces himself to stop. This isn’t getting him anywhere. He needs a real solution. Something that can lift this strange curse.

He turns and rests his head against the door. “Guards,” he calls.

He hears the shuffle of the two guards, a throat being cleared. He shouldn’t be able to hear those things, he thinks, not through the solid wood and stone. But the pollen is doing something to him – his hearing seems heightened. His sense of touch, as well, highlighting the stifling heat of his clothes, the rough wood under his forehead. The brush of air against his hard, oversensitive cock.

He shudders. A guard, outside, calls back, “Yes, my king?”

Harrow grits his teeth. “Fetch Lord Viren.”

-

By the time Viren arrives, Harrow has shed his many layers of clothes in favor of a red bathrobe, wrapped tight around him and tied to hide the stubborn jut of his cock. Even with only that on, he’s burning up, sweat gathering under his arms and at the small of his back, his breath coming short.

Viren hesitates as he enters. The room is dimly lit – Harrow can’t bring himself to light any candles when he’s this hot – and Harrow must be a strange sight. Sweating and breathing hard, barely dressed, with his eyes blown wide and dark.

A hot, corrosive rush of shame runs through Harrow at the thought of Viren seeing him like this. And somehow, in this state, even the shame seems to feed the desperate pulse of need inside him, making his skin flush hot and his stomach flip. He glares at Viren, angry at him for being here to witness this.

Viren looks perfectly composed in his many layers of robes, his hair and beard neat, his face calm. He’s holding himself very straight, his body hiding a careful strength, subtle and appealing –

Harrow turns sharply away to stare out of the window, focusing on the forest that stretches beyond the castle. The trees are a beautiful sea of color this time of year, green and orange and a deep blood red. It would be a more pleasant sight if Harrow weren’t aware of all the dangers that lurk in the shadows.

“Harrow, what is it?”

There’s no way around it. Gritting his teeth, Harrow recounts the encounter with the flower. He explains, with as few specifics as possible, his current situation.

Even from across the room, Harrow can hear the way Viren’s breathing sharpens. But when he finally speaks, his tone is calm. “Well. According to what I’ve read on this kind of affliction, obeying the urge should actually resolve the issue.”

Harrow swallows hard. It’s hard to think through the red haze that fills his mind, but he knows that won’t work.

“I tried that, Viren.”

“You…?”

“I tried – taking care of it myself. It didn’t fix it.”

“Ah.” Viren swallows. “I suppose you might require… a partner.” He pauses. “I suspect there are plenty of people in the castle who would be willing to help, if asked.”

Harrow stiffens at the matter-of-fact tone – as if he’d just seize a random servant. He whirls to glare at Viren. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

“It’s not unreasonable. For all we know, your life might be at stake.”

It’s true that this feels dangerous – Harrow’s heart is racing, his breath coming short, heat pulsing through him in waves. In the hours since he breathed in the pollen, it’s only gotten worse.

He ignores the feeling as best he can. “I’ll be fine.”

“There’s no way for us to know what the ultimate effects will be. There are definitely tales of this sort of affliction proving deadly if it’s not… treated.” 

“You mean if I don’t fuck someone,” grits out Harrow.

Viren’s mouth draws into a tight line. “That’s… That’s my understanding, yes.”

Harrow growls in frustration, pacing across the room to his desk. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to have sex – god, it’s all he can think about, his body buzzing with need, his skin burning with heat. But the thought of what Viren suggested – taking a servant to bed, or a volunteer from among his people – makes his stomach twist with shame. 

Even if they were truly willing, the thought of revealing himself like this – desperate, _weak_ – is unbearable. No – he can’t sacrifice his pride as king because of a _flower_.

“I could also see if there’s any magic that could help,” Viren says. “I would have to research, of course, but we could try a few things...”

“I’m not going to let you experiment on me,” growls Harrow. The thought makes his skin crawl. Viren’s talents have proven useful at desperate times, but Harrow’s not about to volunteer to be subject to dark magic unless it’s a sure thing. The effect of the pollen is curse enough. 

He props his hands on the desk and leans over it, his back tense. Despite the discomfort of this situation, he’s still as desperate as ever, desire coursing hot through his veins. He feels hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes, the way his cock shifts against the soft interior of the robe, and it makes him shudder.

“Fine. Forget the magic.” Viren draws in a breath. “There’s still an obvious solution! This is a foolish thing to endanger your life over, Harrow.”

He steps closer to Harrow, crossing towards the desk. Harrow stiffens. He can barely register Viren’s words, because as he comes closer, Harrow can _smell_ him.

Viren’s scent strikes Harrow like a blow: a strange, sharp smell, like foreign herbs and cedar smoke. Harrow’s body responds to it immediately, like it’s slicing right through his defenses, and a shudder runs through him.

He’s never thought about Viren’s scent before, but some part of him recognizes it perfectly. He must be used to it, a scent caught only in hints, associated with close, intimate moments: talking to Viren quietly on the balcony, bending over a map of the kingdom, their heads close together. Too subtle for him to notice consciously.

Now, under the influence of the pollen, it’s potent enough to make his head spin. The scent brings a rush of memories – times he and Viren were together, going all the way back to when they were young.

Back then, Harrow had wanted Viren so much. He had even thought Viren might want him too, when he caught Viren’s quick, piercing glances, saw his rare smiles like the first rays of sunshine cresting distant peaks. But that must have been wishful thinking – Viren never gave a sign he was interested in something like that.

And they were growing up, anyway, suddenly given a kingdom to run. Harrow had forced himself to shut those feelings away.

Except now, with desire eating him from the inside and Viren’s scent in the air and the proximity of Viren’s body – tense, worried, _warm_ – painfully obvious without Harrow even having to turn around. Now, those thoughts are not as distant as he always told himself.

“Don’t come any closer,” grits out Harrow.

But Viren continues forward, his footsteps loud to Harrow’s inflamed senses. “Harrow… I can tell your condition is worsening, and I think –”

“I said,” hisses Harrow, “not to come any closer.”

Why must Viren insist on standing up to him, when anyone else would have bowed to the king’s will? It’s part of why Harrow values Viren so much, but he also hates it. It makes him angry, makes him want to force Viren into his place. 

That impulse feels very different through the red haze of the pollen sickness, with his pulse racing and Viren’s scent drawing him in.

Harrow shudders. If he doesn’t stop himself, he’s going to –

Viren steps closer.

Tension grips Harrow. He hates how weak he is to this. He wants desperately to fight it – to fight _something_. He feels a strong urge to lash out at Viren, to punish him for making things worse when he should be helping.

He takes a shuddering breath and tastes Viren’s scent on his tongue, subtle and complex as incense. His head is spinning, his heart racing, and he just wants to –

He tightens his grip on the edge of the desk until it hurts.

That’s when Viren reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder.

Harrow can feel the touch run through him, a surge of heat even through his clothes, sparking against the thick tangle of need inside him. He can’t stop himself from whirling and grabbing Viren by the upper arms. Desire burns like anger inside him and at first he wants to shove Viren away, hurt him, but when he pushes Viren against the wall, he can’t help following after, grinding his body against Viren’s with a groan. 

He feels a shudder run through Viren. Viren’s head tips back against the wall, an unreadable expression twisting across his face.

Is that dismay? Disgust? Harrow grits his teeth. Shouldn’t Viren be glad to serve his king? If he’d volunteer others for the job, shouldn’t he be willing to do it himself?

It would be so easy – to lean in and kiss Viren, to grind against him. To strip off his clothes, turn him around, fuck him. For a heartbeat, Harrow is blinded by the thought of it, drowning in the swell of need. He stands still, pressed so close to Viren he can feel the tremble of Viren breathing.

Then he jerks away. Strides across to the other side of the room, not looking at Viren. When he reaches the bed, he grabs the wooden bedpost just to have something to hold onto, and bows his head, breathing hard.

No matter how much he needs this, no matter how aggravatingly unhelpful Viren is being right now, Harrow’s not going to do something Viren doesn’t want.

“Harrow –”

“Leave me be.”

“Harrow, I –” Something catches in Viren’s voice, and he clears his throat. “I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t,” grits out Harrow, “want your help, Viren.”

Viren falls silent. Harrow doesn’t turn around, but he can picture the stiff line of his spine, the twist of wounded pride on his face.

Good. Let him be insulted and leave – it’s safer than him being here and risking Harrow losing control.

But instead of leaving, Viren takes a step closer. His voice is sharp. “This is no time for pride. Your life could be in danger. We know a cure for this affliction – you’ll have to take it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” growls Harrow. Already, he’s perilously close to losing control, to seizing what he needs from Viren by force. If Viren tries to offer it up to him out of some sense of duty, he’s not going to be able to resist.

And Viren’s close enough now that his body seems to pull Harrow in like a magnet, the scent of him like strange incense, the accelerating rhythm of his breath drawing Harrow in. Harrow’s pulse is racing, throbbing in his cock, pounding in his ears.

“Stop,” he grits out. “I command it.”

“We have no choice, Harrow,” snaps Viren. “You may not want it, but you’re just going to have to get it over with.”

And he touches Harrow, a firm hand on his shoulder that sends heat coursing through Harrow like a strike of lightning.

Harrow’s strong, but he’s not this strong. He turns and seizes Viren. The greedy pulse of desire in his veins leaps at the fragility of Viren, the way he tenses at Harrow’s touch. Harrow wants to –

To destroy him.

It’s a vicious, greedy feeling, one that makes him turn and shove Viren into the bed, so that Viren falls onto it, on his back, and before he can sit up Harrow pushes between his legs and leans over him and kisses him.

He crushes his mouth to Viren’s, swallowing Viren’s gasp, pushing his tongue into Viren’s mouth. A thrill runs through him. He used to think about kissing Viren, but the kisses of his youthful fantasies were sweet, careful, soft. This one is fierce, open-mouthed and hungry. The first taste of water for a man dying of thirst.

He feels hot all over, oversensitive, and the pressure of Viren’s lips against his, the slick friction between their tongues, makes it hard to breathe. His head is spinning.

It might be weakness to yield to this feeling, but it feels addictively like strength. Like power running hot through his veins. Irresistible.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not enough.

Harrow could drown in the sensation of kissing Viren, the messy, breathless reality of it, but it’s not enough. The desperate rush of his pulse demands more.

Reaching between them, he tears open Viren’s robe, then his shirt. Viren draws in a sharp breath, but doesn’t try to pull away. Harrow pushes a hand roughly against Viren’s chest, a forceful, possessive touch, and feels the way it shudders with Viren’s breath.

A greedy impulse makes him pull away from the kiss and look down at Viren. He’s pinned to the bed by Harrow’s hand spread across his chest, his skin flushed, his lips gone pink and full from the force of the kiss. The desire inside Harrow gives an eager shiver of anticipation, like an animal spotting its next meal.

He pushes his hand up Viren’s chest, letting his fingers catch on Viren’s nipple, and Viren makes a soft noise. Harrow groans. Viren isn’t fighting him – his body is still, pliant under Harrow’s touch, the shudder of his narrow chest painfully vulnerable under Harrow’s hand.

The hungry part of Harrow wants to pounce on his vulnerability, tear into it. It’s with effort that he holds himself back, taking a shuddering breath. He drags his gaze up to meet Viren’s eyes.

“If you don’t want this,” he manages, “you’re going to have to stop me now.”

Something flashes through Viren’s eyes, and his mouth twists. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Harrow’s heart bangs against his ribs. Desire twists in his stomach, tightening like the spring in a clockwork toy, pushing him to keep going. But, looking down at Viren, feeling Viren’s heartbeat under his hand, rhythmic and quick –

He knows Viren doesn’t want this. He resigned himself to that fact a long time ago.

Shame clashes with the hot tide of desire inside him, and he pulls away, his teeth gritted.

Viren grabs his wrist before he can pull his hand away. “Harrow. You need to do this.”

“I won’t,” tries Harrow thickly. “I won’t do it to you, Viren, I –”

Viren hisses, savage and frustrated, and drags Harrow’s hand down his body, pulling it between his legs.

He’s hard. Harrow can feel the shape of his cock through the snug fabric of his pants.

Shock and desire pulse through Harrow, lightning-hot. He drags in a desperate breath, his eyes going to Viren’s.

Even in this undignified position, there’s a sharp pride to Viren, and his voice is steady in the stillness of the room. “Harrow. Take what you need from me.”

Harrow can’t think, can’t process what this means.

All he can do is give in.

He surges forward, pressing their bodies tight together. He rolls his hips against Viren’s and gasps at the feeling of their cocks pushing together, hard and unmistakable through their clothes. A debilitating rush of need seizes him, and he grinds down against Viren, his head spinning, his body pulsing with heat.

The air feels thick between them, dense with Viren’s scent and the heat of arousal. Harrow ducks his head and bites down on the side of Viren’s neck, moaning at the taste of him, the delicate softness of his skin. Viren gives a strained gasp.

Harrow sucks at Viren’s neck as he reaches between them, fumbling to open Viren’s belt and pants. He tugs Viren’s pants and underwear down, pulling away just enough to pull them roughly off. Harrow’s wearing only a bathrobe, and it’s easy to untie the belt and press his naked body against Viren, lining up their chests, their stomachs, the hot push of their cocks.

He groans, helpless. Every sensation feels magnified by the effects of the pollen – the warm friction of Viren’s skin against his, the rhythm of Viren’s heartbeat against his chest, the taste of Viren on his tongue. Shuddering, he grinds hard against Viren, feeling every inch of the slide of Viren’s cock against his.

Distantly he’s aware that this shouldn’t be happening like this. If he were ever to touch Viren like this for real, nothing between them but the sweat-slick slide of their skin, it would be something they built up to, slowly and carefully. Something Harrow would have a chance to brace himself for, to fully appreciate all the implications of.

But there’s no time for any of that, not now, with need pulsing forcefully through him, driving his hips down against Viren’s. Pulling him into a frantic rhythm until the pleasure surging through him is unbearable. Until there’s only one conclusion to this.

He bites down on Viren’s neck as he starts to come, climax seizing him and not letting him go, his cock jerking against Viren’s and spilling in thick pulses up Viren’s stomach. Viren gasps, tensing under him.

Harrow shudders for a long moment, and then he pulls away, straightening up with a groan. Even as the last pulse of pleasure fades, he’s aware of the desire still twisted inescapably in his stomach, the red haze still filling his mind. His cock is as hard as ever, standing thick and obvious between them.

Viren is breathing hard, his cheeks pink. His gaze travels down to Harrow’s cock. “Did that not..?”

“No,” pants Harrow, seizing Viren and dragging him closer, bringing Viren’s hips to the edge of the bed, Viren’s thighs on either side of his. Viren looks delicious, all blushing skin, his neck marked by the bruise-dark line of Harrow’s teeth. The hunger inside Harrow swells like a high tide, beating against his defenses.

He can’t think. He plants a hand beside Viren and leans over him, curling a hand around his own cock and giving himself tight rough strokes. He’s breathing hard, heat pulsing through him, the sight of Viren spread out beneath him enough to make him feel desperately close to coming again. His body is telling him that orgasm will bring relief, and he can’t help believing it, can’t help thinking that this time, it will be enough.

Viren shudders. “Harrow –”

“Let me just try –”

“This clearly didn’t work. I think you should –” Viren’s voice catches, but his gaze is steady, his eyes cool gray against the flushed warmth of his cheeks. “You should penetrate me.”

The words strike Harrow like a blow. Suddenly that’s all that he can think about – all that the monstrous desire inside him will let him think about.

In one tense, desperate rush, he shoves Viren farther back onto the bed and climbs up after to kneel over him.

Viren’s still wearing his robe and shirt, spread open to show his chest, but he’s naked from the waist down. It makes him look vulnerable, somehow – draws attention to the flushed line of his cock lying on his stomach, the soft pale skin of his thighs. There’s a tension in him, a twist to his mouth as he gazes up at Harrow.

A shudder runs through Harrow. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says thickly.

“You won’t.”

To the vicious swell of need inside Harrow, the words sound like a challenge. Red swims before his eyes. He could, the pollen wants him to say – he could seize everything he needs from Viren and leave him ruined.

He tenses, his fingers twisting in the blankets beside Viren’s head, a desperate tremor running through him as he tries to hold himself back. “I – I _could_ –”

Viren’s eyes flash. “I have enough magic in me to make sure you don’t.”

“Oh,” says Harrow, his head spinning. He’s not surprised Viren came prepared to do magic, but the thought of it makes him shudder. He imagines Viren full of dark power, the arcane force of it lurking under his skin, eager to be released.

It’s an unsettling idea, but through the haze of the pollen sickness, it feels dark and forbidden in a way that makes his stomach do an excited flip.

Harrow swallows. It’s like the world is tilting around him. To think he’d be excited at the thought of dark magic. To think that Viren would want this – would lie still and waiting under Harrow, his cock hard, his body tense.

Viren does want this, right? He’s not just forcing himself to go along with it because it’s what Harrow needs? Harrow hesitates, struggling to think through the churn of need inside him, like a drowning man struggling for a full breath of air.

“Harrow.” Viren’s voice is sharp. “Come on.” Tilting his chin up, he spreads his knees, arching his back a little.

The movement is more impatient than seductive, but it’s enough of an invitation to erase every other thought from Harrow’s head. He surges forward, grabbing Viren’s thigh and pushing it up. His gaze turns hungrily on Viren, exposed: the soft insides of his thighs, his small pink hole.

Desire swells in Harrow like a wave breaking, knocking him breathless. All he can think about is pushing into Viren, feeling the tight hot inside of him. He grits his teeth. He can’t do it like this, he’ll hurt Viren – 

Viren is tense under him, his head pushed back against the bed, his cheeks flushed dark. “Just do it.”

“No – You – you need –”

“I’ve got magic to help, I’ll be fine, just –” Viren’s voice is strained. “Just don’t make me wait any more.”

Harrow groans. Viren’s body is right there in front of him and he can’t do anything but give in.

He pins Viren’s thigh up and pushes into him in one reckless, desperate move.

It seems impossible for one breathless moment, but Viren’s body is opening for him. Viren’s body is warm and tight and somehow slick around him, and Harrow can only push into him, driving deeper and deeper inside him, moaning. Until he’s buried deep inside, his hips flush with Viren’s ass, Viren almost bent double under him.

Viren cries out, a soft vulnerable sound like nothing Harrow’s heard from him before, and need roars through Harrow like a wildfire. It must be magic that’s making Viren feel so slick around Harrow, but Harrow can’t even pause to think about that, not when his cock is surrounded by the tight grip of Viren’s body, his body pressed tight against Viren’s, both of them trembling.

This is it, he thinks – this is what the pollen wants, the violent intimacy of this, their bodies locked together. His pulse is pounding with an instinctive rhythm and he lets it take him over, rocking his hips hard into Viren, again and again, groaning at the trembling heat of Viren around him, the shudder of Viren’s body under his.

He drops his head to Viren’s neck, breathes in the intoxicating scent of him, warm and smoky and potent. He kisses Viren’s skin hungrily, tracing the mark he left earlier with his tongue, sucking on it until Viren whimpers. It’s a raw, broken sound, something that resonates all the way through Harrow. Something that makes his hips drive even harder, pushing frantically into the gripping heat of Viren’s body.

He was never going to last long, not caught up in this relentless rhythm, drowning in the feeling of Viren around him. He can feel climax building inside him, and he groans, low and eager, desperate to feel release.

He thrusts hard into Viren one more time, and then he’s coming in a white-hot rush of pleasure, his hips jerking. The pleasure swells and peaks inside him, pulses hot through his whole body and spills deep inside Viren.

And yet.

It’s still not enough.

The desire flooding his veins is as hot and desperate as ever, the tension gripping his body even tighter now. He growls, low and frustrated, his fists white-knuckled in the blanket on either side of Viren.

Viren is gasping for breath under him. “Was that –?”

Harrow can’t speak. The swell of need is too thick in his throat, the grip of it pushing all the air from his lungs. Reckless, he pulls out of Viren, grabs him, and rolls him onto his stomach. Viren gasps, but Harrow doesn’t stop.

He pushes Viren’s thighs apart, plants one hand on the small of Viren’s back, and drives back into him.

Viren’s body opens easily for him now, hot and slick with Harrow’s come. Harrow groans. He braces himself against Viren’s back and drives down into him, short urgent jerks of his hips. He feels more desperate than ever, his head spinning, his whole body tight with frustrated need.

The sensation of Viren is overwhelming, the slick gripping heat of him, the breathless sounds that push out of him. Harrow leans forward, planting both hands on the bed and rolling his hips in long, hard thrusts, slamming into Viren, pushing Viren down into the mattress. Viren whimpers, his body tensing under Harrow, his hands clutching at the blanket.

“Harrow –” gasps Viren, the words stuttering out of him. “The pollen – We should try something d-different –”

But Harrow’s body is insisting that there’s nothing he can do but this, no path forward but to keep pushing into Viren. Tension is already building in his stomach, promising that this time, finally, will be enough. It has to be.

Viren shudders under him, shifting, his hips twitching. He’s open-mouthed against the bed, breathing in wet gasps, his eyes closed, a deep flush coloring his face. “Harrow, I – I think I –”

Harrow can barely hear him through the roar of his pulse in his ears, the dizzying rush of sensation, Viren’s body trembling around him, the slick feeling of his own come inside Viren. He thrusts even harder, long strokes that grind Viren down into the bed.

And suddenly Viren moans, low and helpless, a sudden tremor gripping his body. He’s coming, his cock trapped between his stomach and the bed, pulsing helplessly onto the blanket – Harrow can smell the sudden surge of it, thick and unmistakable.

The knowledge seizes Harrow like a storm, electric and deadly. He was already close, and the pressure of Viren’s body gripping him is enough for him to fall apart, to press his body to Viren’s and bite down on his shoulder and drive his hips against Viren’s until he’s coming inside Viren again, the pleasure of it blinding, the pulse of his oversensitive cock almost unbearable.

They both lie still for a moment, gasping, their bodies trembling.

But it wasn’t enough. Need pounds like a drumbeat against Harrow’s ribs, dragging him onwards.

With a frustrated groan, he pushes himself up, bracing himself on his arms and rolling his hips to push his cock – as hard as ever – deep into Viren. Come spills out around him, rolls thick down between Viren’s legs.

Harrow moans, low and hoarse. He can’t help rocking his hips, finding the same urgent rhythm. His body is buzzing, tense, his senses heightened. He can feel each hot trembling inch of Viren’s body around him, hear the messy wet sound of each thrust. It makes him feel dizzy with desire, feverish and desperate.

Viren whines, a high broken sound, squirming against the bed. Desire licks hot through Harrow and he wants to go even harder, wants the room to echo with that small, helpless sound. But Viren drags in a breath and gasps, “Stop.”

Harrow trembles there for a moment, deep in the slick, overflowing depths of Viren, frustration burning through his veins. “No – I – I need –”

“Harrow.” Viren is breathing hard against the blanket, his eyes closed tight. “It’s too much.” 

His voice is raw, helpless. Harrow’s heart lurches. He shudders and pulls back.

If he looks down at Viren, spread out messy and open beneath him, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to resist. So instead he jerks away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from Viren. He’s shaking, his whole body shining with sweat, his cock jerking up towards his stomach, swollen and sensitive. His heart is racing, and he feels light-headed, feverish, unable to catch his breath.

Viren, sitting up behind him, lets out a soft groan. The sound is vulnerable enough to send a desperate shudder through Harrow.

He’s seen Viren bare now, seen him trembling, spread open. He’s touched the heat inside Viren, felt the shudder of his climax. It’s all so much more than Harrow ever dared imagine. He should be amazed, grateful that Viren allowed all of this.

And yet all he can feel is need, deep and driving, a desperate ache to do even more. To turn Viren inside out, if that’s what it takes, to kiss every inch of his skin, to force every possible broken sound from his throat.

Harrow’s hands are clenched on his thighs, his whole body tense and yearning, his breathing shallow. His head is spinning with everything he still wants to do – _needs_ to do. It takes him a moment to hear what Viren is saying.

“So. Clearly my understanding of how to resolve this situation was incorrect.” Viren’s words are clipped, as if he hasn’t quite caught his breath.

Harrow closes his eyes, but he can still see red pulsing across his vision. He doesn’t want to discuss this. Doesn’t want to stop and think about what he’s done, what this means for him and Viren. “Maybe – maybe if I keep going –” There might be a limit to it, a number of orgasms before the effect fades. If he could just count off a few more, like plucking the petals from a flower, then maybe –

Viren’s voice interrupts his thoughts, cool and resolute. “There is one more thing we could try.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harrow ends up on his back, his body tense and angry, his breathing shallow. His arms are overhead, hands curled tight around the headboard, because he can’t let himself reach out and touch Viren. If he does, he’ll hurt him – shove him away before they can go through with this, or maybe just grab him and roll him over, fuck him the way the need inside him is howling for.

Viren’s voice is cool. “You’re going to have to relax.”

“I _can’t_ ,” growls Harrow.

“I know you don’t want this, but it may be the only solution.”

“That’s not it. I –” Harrow cuts himself off, trying to catch his breath, to think through the red pulse of need. He does want this, desperately. Lying on his back, with Viren kneeling between his spread thighs, he’s aware of a trembling emptiness inside him, an ache low in his belly that calls out to be filled. Maybe it’s been there all along, pulsing just beneath the bright conquering thrill of taking Viren’s body for his own.

But to need something like this, to lie here on his back and wait for it instead of rising up and seizing what he wants –

He can’t stand it. Even through the haze of the pollen, he still has some pride, enough to want to cling to what little dignity he has left. Distantly, he knows it’s not fair of him to refuse to do what he demanded from Viren – but the thought only makes him feel defensive, hot desire curdling into anger in his stomach.

“I’m your king,” he bites out. “This is – inappropriate.”

Viren stiffens. “Well, _your majesty_ , I’m trying to save your life.” He reaches out and wraps his hand around Harrow’s cock, and watches Harrow shudder, his back arching, a low groan pushing from his throat. “We can worry about your pride after we fix this.”

He pulls his hand away before Harrow can thrust up into his grip. Harrow grits his teeth, his arms tensing. The roaring thrum of desire makes him feel wild, out of control, and that makes him want to seize control – to hold Viren’s body down with his, render him gasping and helpless. It’s almost unbearable to keep still, to contemplate yielding up every last defense.

But Viren’s gaze on him is sharp and expectant. Demanding, as always, just a tiny bit more than Harrow thinks he’s capable of giving. Harrow closes his eyes tight.

The longer he lies here, tense and trembling, the worse the ache inside him grows. Until he feels like he might die here, sweaty and desperate, his heart driving itself to pieces against his ribs. His last breath tasting of sweat and arousal and the sharp, intoxicating smell of Viren.

He forces out a ragged breath. “Do it.”

Viren’s first touch is gentle, fingers sliding carefully against Harrow’s hole, tracing his rim. Harrow shudders at the touch, clutching the headboard. The sensation is heightened by the effect of the pollen, and it vibrates up through him, triggering a helpless rush of heat. He can’t help his hips tilting up, his knees spreading.

Viren’s breath catches, but his hand is steady, one finger slipping gently into Harrow. Harrow groans. Heat shivers through him, and his body opens for the touch, trembling and eager.

“More,” he grits out.

“Okay, just – just a moment,” breathes Viren. “Here –”

Viren pushes two fingers into Harrow, magic-slick, sudden enough to make Harrow gasp. An eager shudder runs through him – this is what he needs, Viren’s warm touch filling him, just rough enough that the violent desire inside him to thrills in recognition. He grips the headboard, arches his back, desperate for more.

But he doesn’t get more – just Viren’s fingers, pushing into him, good but hardly enough. Harrow growls, frustrated, lifting his head to look at Viren.

The sight knocks the breath from him. Viren’s other hand is around his own cock, moving in tight, fast, strokes, and then there’s the _magic_ , a shimmering purple darkness that spills from between Viren’s fingers and twists around his cock, shifting in time with his strokes, squeezing him.

Harrow’s stomach twists at the sight, but he can’t help being drawn to the flushed swell of Viren’s cock pushing through his fist. Viren’s using magic to get hard again – doesn’t that mean Harrow is demanding too much of him? But all Harrow can feel at the thought is a hot rush of desire. The frantic rhythm of Viren’s strokes excites him, the desperate tension of Viren’s body as he kneels between Harrow’s legs. As if he’s as eager for this as Harrow is.

Harrow lets his head fall back, gritting his teeth through a swell of heat, his body clenching down on the gentle pressure of Viren’s fingers inside him. Maybe Viren wants this, or maybe he just wants to get it over with – Harrow’s too far gone to care. It just needs to happen, or else the aching need at the core of Harrow will swallow him whole, will burn him up from the inside out.

“Are you ready?” asks Viren, slipping his fingers out of Harrow and sliding his hand up Harrow’s thigh.

Harrow twitches at the touch, spreading his knees, tilting his hips up. “Yes,” he gasps.

Viren shifts on the bed, drags in a breath, and pushes into Harrow. A single desperate thrust, magic-slick, slow but unhesitant.

Harrow’s senses are heightened enough to feel every inch of it, the blunt pressure and the slick hot friction. The sensation ripples out through his whole body, making him tremble, his body yielding to the push of Viren’s cock like it was waiting for this all along.

Until Viren is buried deep inside Harrow, their bodies pressed together, and Viren gasps in a breath. “Is this –”

The need inside Harrow feels like a wildfire, hot and uncontrolled, demanding action. He can barely manage to grit out, “ _Viren_ ,” sharp enough to be a command, desperate enough to be a plea.

Viren responds, starting up a deep, steady rhythm, holding onto Harrow’s thighs and driving into him. His breath comes quick and tense, and his eyes are dark, focused, sharp as chips of obsidian.

Harrow groans. Every thrust sends pleasure surging through him, running up his spine, sparking through the empty need inside him like lightning across a night sky. It’s overwhelming.

And yet part of him still needs more than this. His pulse is pounding frantically in his veins, his stomach twisting into desperate knots. He’s trembling, gasping, holding onto the headboard tight enough to hurt, because otherwise he’ll grab Viren hard enough to bruise, drag him closer. “Harder.”

Viren lets out a rough breath and goes harder, his hips driving against Harrow, his thrusts fast and forceful. He leans forward over Harrow, face flushed, hair clinging to his forehead.

Harrow’s stomach tenses as he rocks his hips up to meet each thrust, a small groan pushing from him each time. This feels so good it’s almost unbearable, his focus narrowed to the pressure and slick friction of Viren inside him, the pleasure swelling through him. And yet –

“More,” he grits out.

Viren is panting. “I – this is –”

Harrow needs more. His whole body echoes with the rhythm of Viren’s thrusts, but there’s still emptiness inside him, a vast darkness pulsing with red, demanding something further. His cock jerks at each thrust, spilling precome onto his sweat-slick stomach, and he’s sure if Viren touched him right now he’d come. The thought makes him groan, his back arching – but part of him knows that still wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t end this aching hunger inside him.

“Viren. I need –” Harrow doesn’t know what he needs, what else he can possibly ask of Viren, but there’s nothing he can do but ask, his voice low and hoarse, forced out between rough breaths. “Please.”

“Okay,” gasps Viren. He thrusts deep into Harrow and stays there, his body tensing. And something shifts inside Harrow. Something swells inside him, cooler than Viren’s skin, tingling against him. Filling him until he can’t breathe, because it’s all he can feel, his body stretching around – around –

He sits up, gasping, and sees the purple glow of magic spilling out between their bodies. Viren’s cock is still deep inside Harrow, but there’s magic there too, filling Harrow and also spilling out of him, tendrils curling up along Viren’s skin like twisting shadows.

Harrow freezes. A fierce battlefield instinct seizes him, fight or flight, and it’s all he can do to stop from shoving Viren away. “What are you –”

“It’s all right,” Viren tells him in a low voice. “I can give you what you need.”

And then Viren moves.

One long, slow roll of his hips, sliding out of Harrow and then pushing back in. The magic moves with him, sliding slickly inside Harrow, spreading him open, pushing unbearably deep. A tremor grips Harrow at the feeling and he moans, helpless.

It’s like nothing Harrow has ever felt, could ever have imagined. The magic filling him, thick and deep, but also shifting, rippling, tingling inside him. The red force of his desire trembles at its touch.

Harrow knows he shouldn’t want this. This is dark magic, deadly and unpredictable. Unnatural.

But when he looks up, all he sees is Viren, flushed and desperate and beautiful, his breath coming hard through gritted teeth as he draws his hips back and then slams deep into Harrow again. Harrow groans. The magic is Viren’s magic, he thinks. It’s Viren filling him, Viren leaving him breathless, trembling, open.

The thought makes him shudder. It’s hard to think anything at all, hard to do anything but _feel_ , the driving unrelenting rhythm of Viren’s hips and the swelling, pulsing push of the magic inside him. The magic is spreading, too, tentacles of power spilling out to twine over their skin, trace their hips, curl around their thighs. It feels like it’s tangling them together, like Harrow couldn’t escape this even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to drown in this, each thrust an overwhelming swell of sensation, dragging him out farther from shore. Already he’s close to climax, tension twisting hot in his stomach, and the thought of coming – finally, finally – makes him feel wild and desperate.

“Viren –” he gasps, rocking his hips up for Viren’s thrust, arching his back. “ _Please_.”

And Viren gasps, a long shudder seizing him, his eyes falling closed. Like the last bit of control he’s been clinging to this whole time is slipping from him. His rhythm stutters, his hips driving hard against Harrow, wild and uneven. And the magic expands, blooming between them like a dark flower, spreading Harrow open, the rest of it spilling over their skin in twisting, tugging tendrils, pulling their bodies together.

“Harrow,” gasps Viren, raw. “Harrow, I –”

But Harrow can’t hear him, because this, finally, is enough. 

The built-up need inside him shatters like the first thunderclap of a breaking storm, and pleasure pours through him like a flood, sweeping every thought from his head. Waves of desperate tension grip his body, clenching around the magic inside him, making his fists tighten, his toes curl. He’s coming, his cock straining up, spilling in thick, hot spurts up his stomach.

He cries out in relief at the sensation, every bit of hot, trembling desire pouring out of him. The magic inside him doesn’t yield as his body tenses, and Viren keeps moving, giving tight desperate thrusts wring pulse after pulse of pleasure out of Harrow. Until he has nothing left, and there’s nothing inside him but pure, glorious blankness.

-

When he wakes, later, his entire body aches as if from battle, but he’s clear-headed.

He’s lying naked on the bed, sticky and sweaty, his bathrobe spread over him like a blanket. Despite the twinge of pain, he feels wonderfully satisfied, filled with a soft warmth.

The contentment lasts until he opens his eyes and sees Viren, and then his heart lurches. Viren is close by, facing away from Harrow, his head down as he pulls on his pants.

“Viren,” says Harrow.

Viren turns, and Harrow can’t help flinching at the sight of him. Viren is transformed – his skin gray, his hair white, his eyes pure black.

Viren tenses, his lips drawn into a tight line, but his voice is steady as he asks, “Do you feel better?”

Harrow can only stare. There are jagged marks like scars on Viren’s face, and his eyes are dark and fathomless. Harrow swallows hard, his stomach twisting. Viren has paused in the act of getting dressed, his shirt hanging open, and Harrow can see an array of bruises and bites marring the gray skin of his throat.

“Are you okay?” asks Harrow hoarsely.

“I’m fine,” Viren answers shortly. “I can fix this.”

The magical gray skin, perhaps. But what about the bruises on his neck, the pain Harrow must have caused him? Harrow remembers the broken, hurt sound Viren made in the middle of everything, and a dark swell of shame grips him.

How could he do this? One taste of desperation, and he turns on the one person he most wants to protect.

For all his strength, for all the ink-dark magic at his command, Viren has always been fragile. Harrow sensed it from the beginning, when Viren was skinny and bookish and Harrow was full of boyish fantasies of protecting him. He still thinks it, secretly, when he sees Viren straining not to show his knee is bothering him, or suppressing a grimace of wounded pride.

Harrow’s always wanted to protect Viren, but sometimes it feels like all his energy goes to protecting the relationship between the two of them instead – a fragile thing, strained and fraught, like a frayed thread that could snap in two at a touch.

Right now, Harrow feels too numb to tell if the thread is still intact.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Viren huffs out a breath. “No need. This is… an expected side effect of using dark magic.”

“No,” starts Harrow. “No, I meant –”

But Viren cuts him off, his voice flat. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

“What? Why? That worked. I feel better.”

“I apologize for not having a better solution.” Viren’s voice is low, bitter. “I’m sorry to – to make you do something you didn’t want.”

Harrow sits up, his heart pounding. “I did want it.”

The words feel heavy as a confession on his tongue, but Viren dismisses them with a twist of his mouth. “I know. The pollen didn’t give you any other choice.”

“No,” says Harrow, and then the rest of the words catch in his throat. He’s kept his desire for Viren locked away for so long that, even now, it feels dangerous to reveal it. He can’t tell how Viren will react, whether the weight of a decades-long secret will be enough to snap the thread that binds them together for good.

He can’t risk it. He already got what he wanted, didn’t he? Despite the haze that filled his mind, his memories of what happened are perfectly clear now, detailed enough to make him shiver just thinking about them.

He told himself once that he’d never trust dark magic again. But he trusted it today – he enjoyed it, welcomed the thrill of it.

His stomach twists at the thought. He wishes he could blame that on the pollen. But even now, sober and clear-eyed, the memory of the magic pulsing inside him catches his breath in his throat.

But that was Viren, ultimately. Viren touching him, Viren all around him, giving him what he needed.

He may not trust dark magic, but he trusts Viren. There’s a reason he turned to him, when he was desperate and helpless under the influence of the pollen.

He looks up at Viren, standing still beside the bed. The gray skin and black eyes are still unsettling, but everything else is so clearly Viren, from the stiff way he holds himself to his familiar expression, the small line right between his brows. The exact same Viren from so many years ago, stubborn and bright-eyed, the sharp edges of him striking against Harrow like flint against steel.

“I wanted it, Viren,” says Harrow, putting force into the words so they’re unmistakable. “I always have.”

Viren inhales sharply, his dark eyes tracing Harrow’s face. “Harrow,” he says, voice still tense, like he’s not letting himself believe it.

“I thought –” Harrow needs to know, suddenly, what Viren thinks of him. How to interpret the tension Viren carried throughout all this, the part of him that was always holding back, trying to stay calm. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

Viren pauses for a long moment, and then says, quietly. “I didn’t think there was a point in being interested.”

Harrow’s heart pounds. “And now –”

“Now –” Viren drops his gaze. “Now, I need to fix this.” He gestures at himself, his strange gray skin, and starts to turn away.

Harrow stands, reaching out to grab Viren’s wrist. Viren falls still. His skin is strangely cool under Harrow’s hand, but Harrow can feel his pulse, fast and steady.

“Wait,” says Harrow.

Viren turns back, and Harrow steps closer at the same time. So that suddenly they’re very close, and Harrow can just catch the smell of Viren’s skin, subtle now that Harrow’s senses have returned to normal.

It’s a sharp-edged scent, cedar and incense, tasting of the past and maybe, possibly, of the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://calllay.tumblr.com/post/183205074059/under-the-influence-callay-the-dragon-prince) and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/522773)! Also, why not try reading my original story, [A Beginner's Guide to Hunting Demons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735552)?


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